Moving On
by CrypticCalico
Summary: What if Lucy had fallen in love with Judge Turpin after Benjamin Barker had been arrested? What would Sweeney come home to when he returned from prison? How will this change things for him…and for Mrs. Lovett? Sweenett.
1. Unforeseen Circumstances

Chapter 1

The dismal streets were unquestionably the same as they had been fifteen years ago, yet London seemed a foreign place to him now. Dark buildings and shops stood bleakly silhouetted against the night sky, blotting out the few stars that were bright enough to shine through the veil of clouds covering the city. He walked swiftly through the gloomy alleys and the shadowy, winding pathways that he had not forgotten after all these years, the pounding of his own anxious heart a low, dull thudding in his ears.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped and took a quick, guarded glance over his shoulder into the dark street. Nothing there; only the deep, lingering shadows that stretched across the rough cobblestones, reaching towards him with illusory fingers of hazy black mist. He frowned and narrowed his eyes, probing the darkness warily. There was something in those shadows, something ominous and foreboding that he didn't remember ever being there before.

He continued on down the street, hoping that when the morning dawned he would be granted a new perspective of the world. It had, after all, been fifteen long years since the last time he'd seen his beloved wife, and held his sweet baby girl in his arms. He anticipated the moment that he would hold them in his arms, and then everything could be all right again.

XXXX

Nellie Lovett recognized him almost the instant he walked through her door. It took a moment for her mind to register, but she knew his face. It was a face that she had never expected to see again, a face she had both loved and loathed all at once.

Her Albert had never been the best husband. It had been utter bliss the first few months after their marriage; but soon he began to show his true colours. He stopped helping her round her shop, and his short temper and violent nature had suddenly burst into the open. He held patience for nothing and nobody, including his wife. Being the impolite, lazy, inconsiderate and simply cruel man he'd turned out to be, she had been really quite thankful when he'd passed on. As her bruises had faded, so had her memories of him, and she had moved on.

Benjamin Barker had been another matter. Always with a ready smile, a kind word on the tip of his tongue, and the most courteous man a woman could ever hope to find. Mrs. Lovett had always had a soft spot for him, which had grown considerably larger over the few years she had known him. But he had been taken, married to the love of his life, and Mrs. Lovett knew she could never have him.

But after an unusual twist of events, he'd been arrested and sentenced to life in prison. She knew it was on a false charge, it _had_ to have been. But now, fifteen years later, somehow, he had come home.

Seeing his face again had brought all these memories flooding back, and she felt a familiar flicker of delight course through her heart as she gazed into his eyes; the first time in fifteen years. Though they were not the same eyes they had once been; none of him was.

He had a rather disconsolate air about him, overall. He was pale and sullen, now; a toughened and hardened man, very likely a result of the callous environment of the prison. She hated to think of him as a victim of the unmerciful torture that occurred in that prison. It was kept very hushed and under wraps, but everyone knew it was happening anyway. He was still civil, but didn't go out of his way to be more polite than he had to.

She pretended not to recognize him at first, and had played along while he inquired as to his old home; the empty floor above her pie shop that her neighbours so credulously thought was haunted. When she told him this, she could almost see a light flicker on in his head. Why was it empty?

Finally, there came the inevitable question that she knew had to come eventually.

"What happened to Lucy?" he asked quietly.

"So it _is _you, then," Mrs. Lovett said, without a hint of surprise in her voice. "Benjamin Barker, returned 'ome after all these years."

"No," he snapped, suddenly incensed. His black eyes flashed. "Not Benjamin Barker. That man is dead. It's Todd now, Sweeney Todd." He turned his face upwards to look in her eyes. "Now, tell me: What happened to my Lucy?"

Mrs. Lovett hesitated. She knew it would hurt him, and it almost broke her heart… but she told him the truth.

"Married? To who?" he asked hoarsely. Mrs. Lovett could hear the shock and pain leak through his guarded tone, and she felt a pang of guilt that she hadn't told him more slowly. But there was no going back now.

"Oh, love, ya don't know 'ow sorry I am to 'ave to tell you this... Do ya remember the man what was pursuing 'er the 'ole time you two were married?"

There was no doubt in his mind who it was. He spat the name, his voice venomous even in his own ears. "Turpin."

**Well, here's the first chapter. Inspiration hit me a few days ago, but I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested. Gave it a shot anyways :) A bit short, but I thought that was a good place to cut off :P Chapter 2 already in-progress! **

**Next chapter will pick up a bit in pace, so don't worry. Cheers! –C.C. :) **


	2. Visitors

Chapter 2

**OK, since I'm such a lazy person let's pretend that the incident concerning Pirelli and his death happened already. I didn't feel like writing it and I wanted to focus more on my own plot then the movie's, since I changed something so drastic :P **

**Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/story alerted! (Story alerted? Hmmm…how do you say that?) You have no idea how happy you make me :D I walked around in euphoria for a week!! –C.C. :) **

Weeks later, Sweeney was still having a difficult time wrapping his mind around it. Lucy, his darling Lucy, _married_ to Judge Turpin. Living with Judge Turpin, sharing a bed with Judge Turpin, _loving _Judge Turpin. What had possessed her to do that to him? Hadn't she known that he would find a way back to her? Hadn't she _known_ how much it would hurt him?

Rain began to drum a low, monotonous beat on the thin roof of his barbershop. He stared out the window at two young people kissing passionately in the gray street through narrowed, smoldering black eyes, as he mindlessly twirled a razor in his hand. He had them, at least. His razors. _They _would always be there for him. And Mrs. Lovett too, he supposed. She irritated him to the ends of his limits, but was tolerable when she was quiet. As for the boy, Toby, he was just _there. _Sweeney did not care for him one way or the other.

After escaping from prison, he'd thought that he'd be returning to a faithful, loving wife, and a blossoming, nearly grown daughter. He didn't even know what Johanna looked like … She would be fifteen years old now, a young lady. He'd missed out on her whole life up to this point, and would probably miss out on the rest of it as well. He sighed heavily.

Instead, he'd come home to a cold, empty residence, long abandoned and untouched. The years of dust had been wiped clean from the floors and furniture, but, unfortunately for him, the same could not be said for the awful, intense inner pain that had torn at his soul and mind.

It didn't hurt _anymore_, at least. He'd taught himself to ignore the pain, to push it deep down within himself and let it fester there. And fester it did, forming a malicious and sadistic blood-impassioned demon inside him, which could only be channeled through the enjoyably vicious slitting of unsuspecting customers' throats. Seeing the blood spray from their deserving, corrupt necks and spill from their sinful, dishonest lips held a fascinatingly mesmerizing sort of appeal to him.

He knew that by now he was only a shallow shell of his former self, a fiend fueled by rage and loathing. But those emotions were the only things that kept him going, his driving force in a world that had ceased its pity on him long ago.

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a loud, firm knocking on his door. Pursing his lips, he set his razor down reluctantly. It was almost certainly Mrs. Lovett coming to bring him his dinner. He readied himself unenthusiastically for the barrage of pointless chit chat that fled from her mouth every time she opened his door. But it was not Mrs. Lovett.

"Are you open, Mr. Todd?" A voice drawled. A churlish, almost mocking tone that made Sweeney's blood run cold and his chest tighten agonizingly, as his body tensed in nearly instantaneous fury.

Judge Turpin.

"Yes, one moment!" Sweeney called through the door. His heart was racing, and he was seeing red already.

He set his razor down and took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. It was the moment that he had been waiting for; and although he hadn't expected it to come so soon, he was ready as he ever would be. He didn't want to unleash his demons yet, however; he wanted some time to revel in the fact that Judge Turpin had so willingly bared his neck for the worst enemy that he didn't know he had, and so unconsciously led himself to his own grisly death.

And it _would_ be a grisly death. Sweeney would take his time with this one, oh yes…. Slash a little here, rip, tear, gash a bit there….

He strode purposefully over to the door, attempting arduously to eliminate the maniacal grin from his lips and force a more appropriate expression onto his face. He succeeded, only just in time.

He pulled open the door, his mind already greedily devouring all the different ways that he could prolong the torture of his nemesis; not long enough that he was able to shout (or gurgle, Sweeney thought savagely) for help, but torture him just long enough that he would be in the most tremendous agony and plead for death, which he would gladly be granted.

But when he looked out his door into the pouring rain, he saw two people standing there, not one. The mask of pleasantness on his face immediately fell away and was replaced with a look of utmost shock. He gaped wordlessly, staring at them for one fleeting moment in thunderstruck silence, but collected himself quickly and ushered them inside. He hastily pasted the expression back across his features, but his heart was still hammering frantically in his chest. His mind whirled as he wondered weakly what he was going to do; the Judge was already making himself comfortable for a shave in the barber's chair.

And a shave _would_ be the only thing he'd be receiving today. The Judge's accompaniment was not something Sweeney had counted on, not something he had expected, or even thought might happen at all.

Lucy.


	3. Dismay and Anger

Chapter 3

Mrs. Lovett had _tried_ to stop them from going up to his barbershop, she really had. She'd intercepted them at the bottom of the flight of steps outside, and had all but begged them to come into her shop for a complimentary pie. She had even gone as far as to inform them that Mr. Todd may not be open today because of the weather. As expected, had been unceremoniously brushed aside by the infamous Judge Turpin, who seemed quite irritable; Lucy had said not a word, but followed him silently and very carefully up the slippery stairs, a delicate pale hand resting on his arm.

Mrs. Lovett had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched them enter the barbershop. She had not failed to notice Lucy's little hindrance, and wondered agitatedly what it would mean for her beloved barber. Rain spattered the ground outside, and she wondered briefly how long the deluge would last. She leaned against the doorframe, fingers pressed to her lips, contemplating deeply. A plan, that was what she needed….

XXXX

Lucy was truly beautiful. Perhaps more so than Sweeney remembered, if that was possible. Her pale skin was glowing, her cheekbones tinged a rosy colour from the chill in the air and the cold rain, and her eyes sparkled with the same cheerfulness that they had many a year ago, when she had been Benjamin Barker's wife. Sweeney politely took her coat as the Judge waited in the barber's chair, and as it slipped off of her thin shoulders, it revealed a more than slightly swollen stomach.

Sweeney felt the demon inside of him writhe, shredding away another fragment of his already ragged heart. A child? She'd gone as far as to bear the man's child?

Before she could sit down on one of the dusty chairs reserved for waiting visitors, he caught her arm.

"Have we met?" he asked quietly. Testing her. Her eyes glanced up and rested on his features briefly. He felt a quick surge of hope rush through his body as she searched his face, and he waited for the flicker of recognition as she realized who he really was.

"No," she said shortly. "I don't think so, Mr. Todd."

Lucy didn't know him. He stared disbelievingly. She took a step back after a moment, hands protectively splayed over her pregnant belly, looking uncomfortable under his steady gaze. At what time had she ever been uncomfortable around him? His eyes narrowed.

Hate boiled up within him white-hot, and he struggled to suppress it and maintain a neutral expression all at once. And this time, it was not just for the man who had robbed him of his happy marriage, but for _her_. The woman who had pitilessly thrown his heart and his love away for another man, and then forgotten him without a second thought.

While his soul had been disintegrating in the cold prison, he had thought of her, and only her. She had been the only thing that kept him alive, and had been his goal in life to one day return to her and Johanna so they could be a family again.

Now, after this, he knew that it would never happen.

"Stop harassing my wife, Mr. Todd. I came here for a shave, not idle chitchat," Judge Turpin said impatiently. "Get on with it."

Sweeney remained silent, unmoving. His mind reeled; the mix of sadness and hopelessness were suddenly surpassed by anger, and in a moment of blind fury, he contemplated murdering them both and their unborn child, right at this very instant. But as his anger deflated, he started to wonder how he would be able to get through this.

Running his sharp blade over the Judge's neck, over and over, unable to slit his throat or even cut him in the slightest, making well-mannered conversation all the while. And Lucy, she would be sitting off to the side, one hand resting on her belly, oblivious of who the barber in front of her really was, or who he had once been.

"Mr. Todd! I would appreciate if you would refrain from daydreaming and perform your job," Judge Turpin said loudly. "And do hurry it up; I've got an important meeting in an hour that can't be missed."

Sweeney turned to walk towards the barber's chair, knowing that every breath the man took would be infuriating, and every overbearing look he shot in Lucy's direction would be sheer agony. He braced himself mentally for the time being, imagining that there was nothing else he could do for now. He only hoped that he could restrain himself successfully enough from causing any irreversible damage. But, before he could take one step, the door suddenly burst open.

Mrs. Lovett rushed in breathlessly, dripping from head to foot merely from the excursion from her door to the door of the barbershop. She stopped dead only a few paces away from him, the door swinging open behind her, giving those inside a glimpse of the torrential conditions outside.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but Mr. T 'as got to come with me, right now. 'E won't be open again 'till tomorrow."

A frown of confusion creased Sweeney's forehead. Mrs. Lovett crossed the distance between them quickly; she was now in such a close proximity to him that her skirts covered both of their shoes. That having done, she stepped on his foot lightly when he opened his mouth to object, giving him a pointed look and widening her eyes warningly.

Mrs. Lovett saw the sudden understanding flash across his face as he caught on to her actions. She was offering him a way out. Would he take it?


	4. Family

Chapter 4

**I'm not too happy with this chapter… dunno why…. Anyways, thank you again to everyone who's been reading/reviewing and stuff! You guys ROCK! XD XD XD **

**Replies to anonymous reviews (for chapter 3. Sorry I didn't reply to those for chaps 1 and 2, I promise I will from now on):**

**HannahHollywood: Thank you! I guess you'll find out what kind of plan she's got now :P And it's a good thing you did :D **

**BloodyPumpkinhead: I'm so glad you think so XD Thank you for reviewing!!**

**MK: Yes, Lucy is, isn't she? XD Well, if you're a Lucy-hater, this story is definitely for you! Gotta love Mrs. Lovett, though!! :D **

"And what, may I ask, is so imperative that Mr. Todd need to close in the midst of the afternoon?" Judge Turpin asked. His voice was now laced with irritation, bordering on anger.

"Personal business," Mrs. Lovett said calmly. "For Mr. Todd's ears only."

Sweeney was almost taken aback at how effortlessly the words rolled off her tongue. She must have had only moments to think this up. This woman was constantly baffling him: one instant she'd be contemplating different types of flowers to brighten up a room; the next, she'd be up to her elbows in human meat and pie crusts. And now this.

"You're gonna 'ave to leave," she said, to a now seething Judge Turpin. She turned towards Sweeney and put a hand on his arm. "Mr. T?"

"I'm afraid she's right," he heard himself say. He watched in mute satisfaction as the Judge rose from the chair, snatching up Lucy's coat from the table in the corner and stalking over to her to help her into it.

"I apologize for this trouble, and I urge you to return anytime. Anythin' you order in me shop will be on the house, or a free shave from Mr. Todd 'ere, if that's what you're after," said Mrs. Lovett.

_An intelligent addition on her part_, Sweeney thought. After all, he _did_ want the Judge to revisit his barbershop, albeit preferably alone the next time. If this incident kept the Judge from doing so, well, quite frankly, Sweeney would _not _be a happy individual. Not that he was most of the time, anyway.

Judge Turpin looked livid. He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to complain, but was interrupted.

"Thank you for your generosity," Lucy said quietly. "I'm sure we'll return sometime soon." At this, Judge Turpin gave a very strained-looking smile. Sweeney could fathom that it was more for Lucy's sake than the sake of being polite.

"I'm sure we will," the Judge said gruffly. "Until then."

He rested a hand on the small of his wife's back and guided her out the door into the rain once again, leaving Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney alone in the barbershop.

After a few moments of apprehensive silence, Mrs. Lovett asked tentatively, "Are you all right, love? I know that can'ta been easy for ya."

Sweeney remained silent, reflecting deeply as he stared at the evening shadows that were slowly beginning to creep across the cold wood floor. Mrs. Lovett placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. "Mr. T.?"

"Where do they live?" he asked quietly after a few moments. There was an undecipherable undertone to his voice that Mrs. Lovett did not like one bit.

"Oh, Mr. T., ya can't-" The stony glare on his face silenced her immediately. She sighed heavily and asked herself, what couldshe do to stop him, anyway?

XXXX

Sweeney stood alone in the rain, on the sidewalk only a few darkened alleys away from Fleet Street. There were no stars this night. He looked up at the building in front of him, curious and wary. This must be it; the expansive, sprawling manor of exquisite design and architecture that Mrs. Lovett had described to him in such detail. A large square of interior light was framed against one of its walls.

Judge Turpin and Lucy sat side by side in oversized, tasteful armchairs, a book in each of their laps. Faint, shifting light flickered and danced across their faces, hinting at a warm fire burning in the fireplace. The Judge lifted his head and said something to Lucy, who laughed heartily and leaned over to kiss him on his stubbly cheek.

Two more figures entered the dim, firelit room. Sweeney gripped the dripping iron fence in front of him as tightly as he could, his knuckles turning whiter then they already were.

The first was a very young girl, mousy-haired and round-faced, who seemed quite energetic, rushing up to hug her mother upon entering the room. The other, an older girl, was blonde and fine-boned. She was more refined, keeping back and only drawing into her mother's embrace when her sister had finished, and when Lucy opened her arms with a gentle smile.

Sweeney's heart leaped at the sight of the second, only to fall dejectedly when he realized that she was not near old enough to be his Johanna. Lucy exclaimed all of a sudden, and the whole family crowded around her to put a hand on her pregnant belly. The little girl said something as she stroked her mother's stomach that made the rest of her family laugh.

Sweeney turned away from the window, eyes downcast. He'd seen enough.

Suddenly, he heard low voices. He stopped and listened intently, alert and suspicious. Presently, a young couple came sauntering down the cobble stoned street, hand in hand, soaking from the rain. Sweeney recognized them as the couple he had seen kissing in the street across from his barbershop earlier that day. He shrank back into the darkness as they approached.

They stopped in front of the manor and kissed tenderly. As they separated, Sweeney heard them exchange parting words.

"I'll meet you at Fleet Street again tomorrow, Johanna."

The girl kissed him again in response.

Sweeney's mind reeled. Johanna? She had been outside his window nearly the entire afternoon… how could he not have realized?

He stared as she passed him, invisible in the shadows. Light spilled from the window, illuminating her face. She had her mother's delicate features, pale skin and golden hair, and she was elegant and sophisticated in the way she dressed and carried herself. She turned and waved to the boy, smiling sweetly, before opening the manor door and disappearing inside.

Sweeney watched until the unidentifiable boy had vanished around the gloomy street corner. His baby girl, already sought after by young men, and courting. His heart contorted horribly in his chest, but he ignored it, turning away to begin the walk home.

XXXX

Just as the cheery lights of Mrs. Lovett's were coming into view in the darkness, he tripped on the slippery street. Pain exploded through his head, reverberating in his temples as his skull hit the stone with a horrendously loud crack. He could see a strand of the white stripe in his hair out of the corner of his eye below his cheek, quickly staining red. Small rivulets of blood began to fan outward, mixing with the water on the cobblestones.

He was barely aware of the raindrops pelting his face and neck, his vision beginning to distort as he numbly contemplated getting to his feet. As the edges of his consciousness ebbed away into blackness, he wondered feebly, after all he had witnessed today, if it was worth it…..


	5. Found

Chapter 5

**I'm really sorry guys, this chapter is pretty short. But I've already started on the next one, so hopefully it will make up for the length of this. :)**

**Replies to** **anonymous reviews:**

**Bloody Pumpkinhead: LoL! Well, it seems that Lucy would XD And yes, this is definitely going to be SWEENETT! I love it too much :D **

**MK: LMAO! Your reviews always make me laugh :P You really hate Lucy, don't you? And don't worry: this chapter's got a lot of Mrs. Lovett in it. It's sorta short though...sorry 'bout that. **

**Laura: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like it XD XD**

Mrs. Lovett was beginning to worry.

Toby was already tucked snugly into bed, cradling his bottle of gin. That had been over two hours ago, and Mr. Todd still had not yet returned. She had been scrubbing the kitchen continuously for the past hour, waiting to hear his footfalls thudding up the steps outside. However, she had been forced to stop several minutes ago, for her hands were beginning to chafe and her skin was becoming irritated from the hard water. The pie shop was as clean as it was going to get.

Mrs. Lovett paced the kitchen floor restlessly, glancing out the window as she passed it. A certain uneasiness had settled over her the moment Mr. Todd had departed, and it had not left her since. She chewed her lip, deep in thought. What if he had done something foolish? The man was so unpredictable…. He never voiced his true intentions, so she was always assuming the worst of him, though she didn't like to….. He was a good person, deep down, she _knew_ it…..

He needed looking after, that man. And how could she look after him, if he wasn't there for her to look after? She'd never seen him eat so much as a scrap, the poor dear…. The shadows under his eyes gave her enough indication that he didn't sleep; and here he was, doing lord knows what outside at all hours of the night, when he should be resting.

That decided it. She strode determinedly across her kitchen, pulling a shawl from a wooden hook on the wall as she opened the door. She was going to find him, give him a piece of her mind, and then bring him home.

XXXX

Mrs. Lovett had gone no more then a hundred paces from her doorway when she noticed the dark, unmoving form crumpled on the side of the street. Her pulse quickened as she hurried over. The unmistakable stripe of white in his hair was streaked an eerie wine-coloured red under the dim light of the street lamps, and Mrs. Lovett began to fear the worst.

There were no stars this night. The rain had stopped some time ago, but she could see just from looking at his unconscious body that he must be soaked to the skin. Blood had mixed with the streams of water in the furrows of the cobblestones, and she couldn't tell for the life of her how much he had lost. Mrs. Lovett knelt beside him and shook him gently, her heart in her mouth.

A sigh of relief escaped her when Sweeney groaned softly and began to stir. He lifted his head sluggishly, and Mrs. Lovett gasped at the amount of congealed blood there was along his hairline. She quickly put an arm around him and helped him sit up.

Sweeney's head spun as he did so, and the street became a whorl of blackness. He blinked, and Mrs. Lovett's concerned face came into focus. The first thing he became aware of was a particular spot on his forehead just above his temple, where his skin felt pulled tight and very raw. He reached up to examine this, but snatched his hand away quickly when blinding pain ripped through it at his touch.

"Mr. T?" she said. She cupped his chin and turned his face towards her own. She could see disorientation in his eyes. "Can you 'ear me?"

Sweeney nodded slowly, his head throbbing.

"I'm gonna 'elp you up now, all right love? You've got to at least try to walk, I don't think I can carry ya the 'ole way."

Mrs. Lovett put an arm around his shoulders, and hauled him to his feet with a grunt. He swayed precariously, but managed to stay upright.

Sweeney leaned on Mrs. Lovett as they began the short walk home, and she could feel his thin frame shivering through his clothes. And even though he couldn't seem to walk properly on his own, she could also feel him straining away from her contact as much as possible. Which made it all the more awkward for her to help him. After the third time his antics caused her to almost lose her grip on him, Mrs. Lovett had had it.

"Stop squirmin' round, Mr. T! Do ya _want _to fall an' crack your 'ead again? Your mind is addled enough already without it 'appenin' twice!" Mrs. Lovett snapped. She was quickly becoming annoyed with him, which was something that did not happen often. She didn't understand why he couldn't just yield to the situation and accept her help. But no, of _course_ he couldn't do that, he was _Sweeney Todd_.

The stubborn fool.

Sweeney would have glared at her, had he been in any less pain. Every step that he took jarred his head so harshly that it made him feel faint, touching on the edge of nausea. It was the worst pain he'd endured for a long time. He knew that if Mrs. Lovett hadn't been there, he would have lost consciousness by now. And he was grateful for that; although he despised the idea of anyone seeing him so indisposed. He wasn't supposed to be weak. It was pathetic and disgraceful.

Weak was for the helpless, and he could never come to think of himself as that.


	6. Comfort

Chapter 6

**I am looking at my stats for this story right now... --faints dead away-- You guys have certainly been reviewing without abandon... And I love you all for it!! XD XD Replies to anonymous reviewers:**

**Bloody Pumpkinhead: Yes, he is most definitely a 'stubborn fool' :P**

**MK: Painful? Oh yes. Very. :P 'Mrs. Lovett is a regular badass, helping him the way she does.' That she is, my friend XD I'm glad you liked the chapter, considering that it was so short(which is what I seem to have been saying to all my reviewers :P)**

**VampireHeart: I know who you are. Don't try to hide from me. Just because you live a million miles away doesn't mean I can't still hunt you down... JK :P I'm glad you liked the story enough to review all the chaps XD**

**Want'sToShagCarlisleCullenBad: Thank you so much! :D **

Mrs. Lovett pushed open the door with one arm. She helped Sweeney stagger over to the nearest chair where he sat down heavily, squeezing his eyes shut, his face twisting into a grimacing frown. His temples were aching, and the place where the skin had been scraped away, blood had dried. It was throbbing sharply, persistent and excruciating. He leaned forward with his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. The biting pain was beginning to overwhelm him; he gripped two fistfuls of his own damp hair in misery, fervently wishing it away.

He was shivering as well, his clothes soaked right through. They seemed to have absorbed much of the frigid air outside, and they now clung to him like an icy second skin.

Sweeney almost jumped when the damp washcloth touched his forehead. It was cool and felt good on his skin, soothing the pain immensely. After a few minutes, he felt himself relaxing, and starting to feel slightly drowsy.

"Are ya gonna tell me wot 'appened, Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett asked finally.

"I tripped," he answered aridly. The motions of the cloth along his hairline ceased.

Sweeney opened his eyes and glanced up at her circumspectly. Her sympathetic brown eyes looked back into his charcoal ones, searching, full of genuine concern and tentative caring. It astonished him how much emotion could be projected through her eyes. He wondered suddenly if anything ever been unconsciously given away by his own…

Mrs. Lovett cocked her head as she stared at him, shaking it slowly. "Mr. T, ya can't 'onestly think that's wot I meant."

Sweeney looked away, staring out the window stubbornly. He was abruptly overcome by a spasm of shivers, and cursed himself silently, knowing how pitiful he must look. He heard Mrs. Lovett sigh, and then the quiet rustling of her skirts as her footfalls pattered down the hall.

He gazed through the glass at the street outside. It had started to rain again, the water drumming a low, monotonous beat on the roof of the shop and against the window. The cold now seemed to have seeped right through his clothes and into his flesh, and the pain that had reduced to a dull ache was now returning full force, making him feel light-headed. He shivered uncontrollably as he heard Mrs. Lovett returning to the kitchen.

"Come on, love," she said as she entered. "I've got a fire burnin' 'ot in the fireplace for you."

He reluctantly let her take his arm and pull him to his feet, following her shakily into the sitting room adjoining the kitchen. He stood in the middle of the room uncertainly on stiff legs. Mrs. Lovett gave him a little push towards the blazing fireplace, in front of which she had pulled up her small, threadbare sofa.

Sweeney sank onto it thankfully. The next thing he knew, he was being covered in the thickest, most flowery-patterned blanket that he had ever seen. It was so large that it draped down over his feet, while still covering his shoulders and the rest of his body where he sat. Mrs. Lovett tucked it around him tightly, before hurrying back into the kitchen with a quick word over her shoulder about a cup of tea.

As he listened to the faint clattering sounds emanating from the kitchen, he realized that he truthfully didn't mind his landlady's actions. This conception made him feel strange inside. In all reality, he was less bothered by the fact that she was taking care of him, and more by the fact that he was actually _letting_ her.

She returned a moment later with a steaming cup of tea, which she immediately handed to him. He sipped it slowly as she sat in the chair across from him.

"I'm sorry I don't 'ave any extra clothes for you. Wouldn't want ya catchin' a chill, now," she said thoughtfully. "Me Albert's wouldn't have fit ya, but they would 'ave been _somethin'_. Got rid of them all after 'e died. They brought in a few extra pounds at the pawn shop, any'ow…"

She chatted on, the occasional nod or upward glance from Sweeney being all the encouragement she needed to continue the conversation. Finally, she trailed off (after Sweeney's mug had long since been drunk dry), staring into the fireplace as if mesmerized by the flames. They sat in silence for a long while. Mrs. Lovett began to doze off, basking in the warmth of the fire and the company of her adored barber.

"Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney said quietly, all of a sudden, "May I ask you a question?"

Mrs. Lovett shook her head to wake herself, then turned and smiled softly at him. "Ask away, love."

"Why did she leave me? Did she simply give up hope of my return after all those years? Or did she ever love me at all?"

His question lingered awkwardly in the air. Mrs. Lovett was stunned into speechlessness; she had never expected this, of all things. A request to leave, or for another cup of tea, perhaps. But not this.

"I really can't say, love," she said at last. "I can 'azard a guess, though, if you'd like to 'ear it…"

Sweeney inclined his head slightly. Mrs. Lovett was astounded that he still wanted to hear her opinion. She was astounded that he even wanted to hear her _speak_, let alone on such a delicate subject.

"I think it must 'ave got lonely for 'er, after awhile. She always needed someone to depend on, someone who would be there for 'er. And with you gone, she 'ad nobody. She was never someone who could 'ave lived alone for long. As for wot she sees in _'im, _only God knows.

"She did love you, dear. She _did_ love you, once. But she moved on. It's not good to dwell on the past, Mr. T.; it only makes things worse. Movin' on's the best thing one can do. It's 'ard, but you're only gonna live your life once. Migh' as well make it a 'appy one."

Sweeney was silent. Mrs. Lovett decided that he had enough to think about, and rose to leave.

"I'm off to bed," she said. "You stay 'ere tonight. I don't want you tryin' anything during the night, either. These walls are paper-thin, I'll 'ear it if you do. Goodnight, Mr. T."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett was almost flattered by his stoic farewell. She looked at him, staring fixedly into the fire, like it was some kind of portal into another life. His eyes were sorrowful and forlorn, very unlike their usual fiery blackness. Her heart went out to him then, and as she passed behind the sofa on the way to her bedroom, she leaned over and kissed him softly on his pale cheek.

"Things will get better, love. They always do."


	7. Nightmare

Chapter 7

**I had quite a bit of trouble with this chapter, so I'm not sure exactly how it turned out... Anyways, anonymous review replies:**

**Bloody Pumpkinhead: Meh, spelling mistakes. We all make 'em :P Aw, your teacher came and dragged you off to class? And the dreaded math, too... I hate that subject with a passion XD**

**MK: Yes, it appears that she has XD I know, poor Mrs. Lovett eh? She should have lived, and she and Mr Todd lived happily ever after by the sea... but I guess that's what fanfiction is for, isn't it? :P**

Mrs. Lovett shivered beneath the cold sheets of her bed. She was having a difficult time falling asleep. Countless thoughts were racing wildly through her mind; among them, wondering if she should regret that impulsive kiss. Mr. Todd hadn't reacted to it in the slightest, but she didn't _really_ know what that meant. That was his usual manner: unresponsive.

On the other hand, if it _had_ made him angry, he would surely have done something about it, wouldn't he? She sighed and rolled over, thinking that perhaps his head was paining him too much for him to even have noticed.

She speculated the advice that she had given him. She hoped that it had been sensible advice, being surprised as she was when she had replied to him. It had been honest, at least, if not helpful.

Reflecting back on what she had told him, she wished with all her heart that he could find a way to forget everything that had happened, and to really move on. To leave his past all behind, start a new life for himself. Even if he could never be the man he once was, she could help him to move on. And possibly, one day, perhaps he could be an ordinary person again.

With that thought resting heavily on her mind, Mrs. Lovett let herself be overtaken by the welcome nothingness of sleep.

XXXX

Finally, Sweeney slept. Mrs. Lovett had left him with quite a few thoughts whirling about in his mind. And this time, they were not all about Lucy. The throbbing pain in his head had only intensified since Mrs. Lovett had left, but he eventually succumbed to fatigue and, though unwillingly, drifted off. He knew what awaited him.

The dreams came. The recurring, spine-chilling dreams that haunted him every night of his life. They were the reason that he was afraid to let himself fall asleep, and what kept him from truly resting during slumber.

Terrifying dreams. Dreams of torture, of betrayal, of blood. And pain. Pain that engulfed him entirely, that was interwoven with every fiber of his body and soul.

Agony.

He was drifting in an infinite black haze, without direction and without purpose.

Then Lucy's face loomed ahead of him, and suddenly he was on his knees on the floor of his barbershop. She stood in front of him, gripping an ominously gleaming razor in each hand. Half of her face was obscured by deep nighttime shadows, the other half twisted in malevolence. The corners of her lips were curved upward in a satirical sneer as she looked down on him, disgust etched in every line on her face.

Lucy's arm came down in a wide arc, her wrist flicking the blade cleanly across his exposed throat, her grin widening. He felt no pain; the only thing he was aware of was terror welling up inside him, helplessly watching blood streaming down his shirt front. He clutched blindly at his neck, panic overwhelming him as crimson gushed from between his scrabbling fingers.

As he felt his life quickly draining away, Lucy began to laugh. A cruel, mocking laugh that spun about him in the air, surrounding him and swallowing him up like a swarm of insects. Lucy's figure began to shimmer while she laughed, dissolving into nothing until she had almost disappeared. Just when Sweeney thought she had vanished for good, and the last few trickles of blood escaped the slit in his neck, the shimmering figure began to take on a new form.

The new form was sullen and gaunt even as it materialized, smiling unkindly while eyeing the pool of blood on the floor. It wiped off the razor almost nonchalantly, staring down at Sweeney's body distastefully.

It was himself.

"Mr. T! Wake up, Mr. T!"

Sweeney was suddenly wrenched back into reality. He sat up too quickly, and his vision went blurry for a moment, and he went lightheaded and woozy, still in shock. His body was awash in a cold sweat, and he almost passed out from the stabbing pain in his temples. His mind blanked and he went into a state of brief oblivion.

Slowly, he became aware of Mrs. Lovett's arms around him, rocking him gently, her voice murmuring soothingly into his ear. Her cheek was pressed against the top of his head, and her fingers were stroking his hair gently as she held him.

As Sweeney became more alert, the throbbing in his temples increased. And as the throbbing increased, he became conscious of the situation. Abruptly, his eyes snapped open and he shrank back from Mrs. Lovett's touch, recoiling when she reached out to him. Anger churned in his belly. He was mortified of how this must look to her, how _he _must look. How dare she touch him! Particularly during a time when he was in too much of a daze to have realized what she was doing.

"Mr. T-"

"Leave me alone," he interrupted forcefully. He stared at the charred remnants of the fire on the hearth, refusing to look her in the eye.

"But Mr.T -"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He shot her the most hateful look he could muster. He'd been humiliated enough this night. And yet again, she had somehow caught him in another moment of vulnerability.

Mrs. Lovett stood up with a start, tripping slightly on the lace hemming her nightgown. She looked shocked for a moment, but her expression swiftly changed back into one of concern. She opened her mouth to object; Sweeney gritted his teeth and screamed at her inwardly.

"Mum? Wot's goin' on?" an apprehensive voice asked, startling both Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett. "And why's 'e in 'ere?"

Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett both turned to see Toby standing in the doorway, a curious and confused expression on his face.

Mrs. Lovett quickly snapped into action. "Nothing, dearie," she said, walking over to him. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder and steered him back through the door.

"I'll explain everythin' to ya in the morning — go back to bed now; you're a growin' boy, ya need your sleep. Goodnight, love."

"'Night, Mum."

Sweeney was slightly surprised that Mrs. Lovett really _had _left him alone. He heard the faint creak of bedsprings, and the whisper of a long sigh emanate from the direction of Mrs. Lovett's bedroom. He supposed that he might possibly have been a bit harsh with her. But she was always confoundedly _concerned _about him, when sometimes all he needed was to be alone. He knew she was terribly fond of him, though he couldn't quite understand why.

This night, however, before this incident, had seemed unusual. It had been different somehow. He had actually sought out conversation with her; actually _wanted_ to know her opinions.

Things were changing; he could feel it. But for the better or for the worse, he didn't know.

Sweeney did not sleep again that night.


	8. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello, readers! I have a request for you. I would really like it if you would go to my profile page and vote on my poll. The second one; I want to kill off a character in this fic (don't worry, it won't be Mrs. Lovett or Sweeney), and I want to know how it sits with you guys. It won't take long, and I really need to know your opinions. I would appreciate if you voted on the poll because it is anonymous. You don't have to, but I would really like to know what you think.

Thank you!! -C.C.

P.S. Once the voting has been closed, I'll take this authors note down, so don't leave your vote in a review (unless you don't have an account, in which case you can review and request for your review to be deleted if you like). Thank you again!

**VOTING HAS CLOSED.**


	9. An Insightful Realization

Chapter 8

**Thanks to everybody for voting on my poll and, and for all the encouragement :) I was absolutely blown away by the amount of support I have and for all the kind words, and I just want you guys to know that I love you so, so much XD I can't thank you enough! XD XD XD**

**MK: Yeah, he's like a jerk sometimes. But he's Sweeney Todd. He's allowed :P Yepperoo, he definitely seems to be warming, doesn't he? :D**

**Bloody Pumpkinhead: Thank you! :D You're just anxiously awaiting that Sweenett, aren't you? :P I am too, actually... XD**

Several days later, Sweeney's headache had abated a great deal, but was still a great throbbing nuisance, and he now had an irksome cough and sore throat as well. Additionally, he was even more short-tempered then usual. He was still fuming over his moments of weakness, and how his landlady had completely misjudged the situation after she'd awoken him from his dream.

The bell tinkled as the door of the barbershop opened, permitting a gust of frigid wind to swirl inside and fill the room. The sound of it also caused a twinge of pain to shoot through Sweeney's temples. He was almost tempted to rip the thing down, once and for all, and be finally rid of its eternally irritating cheerful sound.

Sweeney was staring out the window fixedly, gazing at something in the street as Mrs. Lovett entered the room. He coughed, his dry throat aching nearly as much as his head. He knew that his voice sounded horrible, so he refrained from speaking.

"Goodness, its cold in 'ere, ain't it?" she said, shivering and smiling a little. "You sure ya don't want to come downstairs for a bit, eat by the fire? It'll be warmer …"

No response.

"Well, where d'you want this, then?" she asked him cheerfully, holding up the tray of food she had brought him. Sweeney merely glanced at her irritably, before turning back to stare out the window once again. He coughed again softly.

"Oh love, you're _still_ angry with me? Ya were making the most awful noises, Mr. T. Scared the life outta me, ya did! Ya were tossin' and turnin', and shakin' like mad! Ya didn't even look like you were woken up completely when ya'd sat up… Wot was I supposed to 'ave done?"

_You could have left me alone, _Sweeney thought bitterly, without turning to face her. _I was perfectly fine. _He knew he still owed her a behemoth of thankfulness for finding him in the street when she did, but adhered steadfastly to his prior opinion. He remained obstinately facing the window.

Sweeney didn't hear the clinking of the tray as she set it down, or the door bang shut as she departed. He was, in fact, more interested in what he was looking at in the street then he had appeared to be. It was a dismal day, like most, only there was no rain falling through the clouds of smog and the fumes above the city. The street was gray and gloomy and colorless, except for the lovesick pair cuddling intimately in the doorway of the building across the road.

Ever since he had heard of their plans to meet at Fleet Street, he had watched for them. The one Johanna had been meeting, much to Sweeney's surprise, had been Anthony, the sailor boy who had been on the ship that had picked him up off the coast of Australia.

Johanna and Anthony had not only met on the day that they had spoken about, but every day since then. And Sweeney had kept an eye on them, concealed like a dark wraith of a guardian angel in the shadows above them in his barbershop. It was this way that he watched over and protected his little girl, so he could be there should anything happen to her, God forbid. Sweeney had sworn to himself, that if he ever caught word that the sailor had hurt her, the boy would find himself in a very dire situation indeed.

Sweeney was almost on the brink of nauseousness, coughing as he appraised the behavior of the besotted pair. How could anyboy in his right mind enjoy _snuggling_ so much?

It was at that moment that Mrs. Lovett decided to barge in, breathless and wide-eyed.

"What?" Sweeney snapped before she could speak. His voice was hoarse and weak, and upon hearing it his annoyance immediately flared.

"I think you might want ta come downstairs, Mr. T," she began tentatively, sensing his anger.

"And why is that?"

"The Judge is 'ere. 'E arrived a few minutes ago," Mrs. Lovett said frankly.

Sweeney felt his blood run cold. "He is? Is… he alone?"

"Yes," Mrs. Lovett said. "He is. Listen, Mr. T, I 'ad an idea, about 'ow to _deal _with 'im —"

"You really think I would allow anyone else but me to get rid of him?" Sweeney interrupted. He was seething already. The Judge was his, all his. He wanted to see the man's blood spilling onto the floor, watching his life ebb away as he begged for mercy, begged for the end… How dare she even _suggest_ a different way?

"Well, no, but…" Mrs. Lovett was taken aback. Just a few nights ago he'd _wanted _to hear her ideas, and now he was as withdrawn as he had ever been. It annoyed her to great lengths how he could be like that. But there was something else nagging at her mind, something that was bothering her about him, something that he didn't seem to have quite grasped…

"Mr. T?" she asked tentatively. Sweeney said nothing, but the expression on his face was one Mrs. Lovett knew very well to mean he really was listening to her, though he didn't appear to be. She took a deep breath, wondering how he would react to her suggestion.

"Did you ever stop an' think, that it might not be _only _the Judge you 'ate so much?"

Sweeney whirled around to reprimand her, but it was then that it hit him. He stopped dead, newfound realization sweeping through him. The Judge wasn't the one he hated the most. It was _her. _Lucy. The woman who had abandoned him and stolen his daughter away. The woman who had fallen in love with someone else and started a new family, because she'd been too impatient and heartless to wait for his return. The woman who had stopped loving him, when she had been all that he'd lived for when he might have let himself slip away.

The one who had broken his already broken heart.

He turned to Mrs. Lovett then, a new understanding of himself surging through his veins. She was right. Of course she was. She was always right. The woman really was a bloody wonder. Every now and then Sweeney got the idea that she knew him better then he did, which was a frightening thing in and of itself.

Mrs. Lovett shrank back slightly as he advanced, unsure of his response. Her heart fluttered as he placed his hand on her shoulder, and she could feel the slight warmth of his skin against her own.

"Mrs. Lovett—" he began, but broke off in a coughing fit, his hand falling away and reaching up to cover his mouth. Mrs. Lovett winced inwardly; he sounded awful. She was disappointed at the loss of contact nonetheless; a cold spot had formed on her shoulder where his hand had slid away, but she could still feel the outline of the ghosts of his fingers against her skin.

Sweeney composed himself quickly, though the remnants of his cough were still discernable in his voice.

"Mrs. Lovett, I'm quite curious as to what you have in mind in view of the fate of our dear friend downstairs."

Mrs. Lovett smiled. She'd known that she could change his mind.


	10. A Plan

Chapter 9

**Replies to anonymous reviews:**

**MK: Well, for now he's just got a cold... but you never know :P LOL a physical showdown with Lucy? That'd be the day, huh? XDD**

**Bloody Pumpkinhead: Wow, someone sure had a lot of sugar! XD Haha, I'm hooked on Sweenett too... it's jsut the awesomest pairing ever :)**

**Laura: Oh, thank you so much!! :D You'll soon see about the judge... very soon :P**

**AmberHart: Oh yes, the love triangle. I like those too :P They just make things so much more exciting XD LoL, I would write faster but I'm so busy all the time, that's why my chapters are usually so short... Haha I'm glad you're enjoying the story though! :D**

Sweeney hurried around the street corner, cursing himself for being sick as he coughed uncontrollably. His breath left his mouth in small, condensed white clouds of vapor which immediately fell away in the frigid air. He stopped for a moment and looked about, scanning the shops for the one Mrs. Lovett had directed him to enter, rubbing his aching throat.

It was easily the darkest, gloomiest shop on the entire length of the street, and to no great surprise. It was the apothecary.

The cracked glass windows were dusty in their filthy frames; set into the exterior walls which were so weathered and beaten that they were now a dull, insipid gray under the low-hanging roof. The interior of the building was so obscured that Sweeney could see nothing more than vague outline of figures inside, moving about like wraiths in a murky fog.

Sweeney looked up and down the street cautiously, and coughed once into his fist before striding quickly across the street, and pushing open the door of the apothecary with one hand. An old woman pushed past him hurriedly on her way out, shoving him hard against the dirty doorframe. Sweeney grunted as his hip and shoulder blade scraped against the edge of the doorway, and he shot a murderous glance at the old woman's rapidly retreating back, already halfway down the street.

The inside of the apothecary was just as gloomy as the outside, every corner filled with thick, dense shadows, and the milky outlines of filmy, almost transparent cobwebs. The windows were no cleaner from this perspective then that outside, and the counter and the shelves behind it were filled with bottles and jars were covered in no less than a clear inch of grime. The disheveled woman behind the counter looked to be in no better condition then the rest of her shop.

Sweeney tucked his hands into his pockets as he stepped in front of the counter, taking care to avoid touching or stepping on anything, especially that suspicious looking dark spot on the floor, which appeared perhaps more dirty then the rest of the shop. He didn't want to be any sicker then he already was, and the fumes emanating from the room in the back were strong and sour and strange. The rancid odor that had hit him when he walked in had already made him gag, and inhaling the vapors of whatever the woman was brewing in her back room were probably bad enough already.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked, her rasping voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I need something that will be undetectable even once it is subjected to extreme heat," Sweeney began, in a voice almost as hoarse as her own, much to his embarrassment. "It must be tasteless, odorless, and colorless. It must be something that will cause excessive amounts of pain, but only after a certain amount of time, and only for a short while. It must also be something that does not cause a suspicious death, and it _must, _most importantly,cause death."

The scruffy woman listened to his list calmly, and without missing a beat turned around to face her shelf, mumbling, "I've got just the thing." She trailed her finger over all the dusty labels of the jars on the first shelf, mouthing the names of the ingredients slowly as she read them. Sweeney looked about restlessly as she searched; he had risked a quick glance into the pie shop when he and Mrs. Lovett had parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, and luckily it had seemed to be busy enough when he had left. But he knew that the pie baker could only put off taking the Judge's order for so long.

Finally, the woman pulled a small bottle off the shelf and blew on it, sending a spray of unsettled dust flying into the air. She turned and handed it to Sweeney triumphantly.

"That should do it, sir," she rasped. "Tasteless, odorless, and colorless. It can be exposed to the hottest of ovens in the whole of London, and will not lose its effect. The pain doesn't start for about three days, but after that the drinker is in a great deal of abdominal pain for four days before they get sick and die. Leaves no trace at all on the body. Good luck, sir."

Sweeney stood there for a moment and thumbed the label of the bottle, wondering if this particular apothecary owner was an honest one. Most of them just brewed their poisons and medicines and didn't bother meddling in their customers' business — it was like a code they used — but once in a while you came across a dishonest one, that was always looking for a quick reward from the nearest officer of the law, and wouldn't hesitate to turn a customer in after hearing about a suspicious murder. That is, if they had enough brain cells left to put two and two together, considering they worked all day inhaling poisonous gases.

He supposed that he could always 'clean up' after himself later, if need be. He placed a few coins on the counter, gave the woman a curt nod of thanks, and pocketed the bottle carefully.

The wind was cold against his face as he hurried back down Fleet Street, walking as fast as he could and hoping that Mrs. Lovett had been able to stall for long enough that he could return.

Instead of going inside, Sweeney passed by the window of the pie shop and caught Mrs. Lovett's eye, making sure she saw him, before proceeding immediately down into the bakehouse.

He pushed open the door and stood in the middle of the floor, turning about and examining the large oven, the meat grinder, and the other baking instruments with vague interest. His eyes fell on the pile of bodies in the corner; there were only three men there today, as Sweeney had not been open for very long when the Judge had decided to drop by. Their open, staring eyes were glazed over and empty, and their faces were bloated grotesquely out of proportion.

"Mr. T?"

Sweeney jumped and whirled around when Mrs. Lovett said his name. He hadn't even heard her come down the stairs.

"A bit on edge are we, Mr. T?" she teased playfully, but he could tell by her tense face that she was as nervous as she was.

"Well, I took 'is order just before I came down 'ere, so 'e's waitin' for it now," she said. Her expression was suddenly serious. "D'you 'ave it?" she asked.

Sweeney produced the tiny bottle and handed it to her without a word. She weighed it in her hand for a moment, then walked over to the oven. She set the bottle on the floor carefully, out of the way so that she wouldn't knock it over accidentally, and pulled the oven open with a jarring, wrenching clang. The flames glimmered and danced, casting flickering shadows over the dark, damp stone walls of the bakehouse.

" 'And me that tray of pies over there, would ya, love?" Mrs. Lovett asked, picking up the bottle again. Sweeney did as she asked, and watched as she pulled open the top crust of one pie. She uncorked the bottle, but before she could begin to pour the mixture, Sweeney stopped her, placing a hand quickly on her arm.

"No," he said. "This is for me to do."

Mrs. Lovett looked up at him. The combination of the long shadows and the shifting, shimmering light from the fire made his face look eerie, and much more menacing than usual, albeit his anxious expression. She could understand his need to do this himself; it was _his_ revenge, after all, not hers. She held out the bottle and Sweeney took it, taking care not to let it drop and smash on the floor.

She held open the pie crust for him as he poured the concoction carefully over the pie filling, until all the liquid was gone from the small bottle. Sweeney tossed it aside without a second thought, and gave the poisoned pie back to Mrs. Lovett. She closed the crust and pinched the edges together, and when she was done it looked like any one of the other pies on the tray.

Sweeney stood back and watched as she set the Judge's pie the farthest to the right in the oven, to bake with the others.

Mrs. Lovett made to go back upstairs, but Sweeney didn't follow her.

"Are ya stayin' down 'ere, love?" she asked him. He nodded slowly, still staring at the closed oven with a far away look on his face.

"All right, then," she said.

Sweeney listened to Mrs. Lovett hurrying up the stairs, back to the rest of her customers. He could hear her footsteps, but to him they seemed distant and disconnected.

He could hardly believe it. He was finally, _finally_ going to kill the Judge. Such a clashing of emotions filled his mind that he couldn't even figure out how he felt about the whole matter. Imagining how devastated Lucy would be when she heard the news that her husband was dead brought a satisfied smirk, unbidden, to his lips. Oh, and she would suffer. He hoped that she would suffer horribly. Just like he had.

Sweeney sat against the wall opposite the oven, beside the door, and watched the poisoned pie baking cozily amongst the crackling flames. _Soon, _he thought, _soon. _

He didn't know how long he sat there, and he began to feel a bit drowsy after a while. But when he heard Mrs. Lovett's footsteps coming back down the stairs, he got to his feet and waited for her by the oven.

She entered the room quietly, and when she saw him waiting she gave him a small smile. Sweeney watched like a hawk as she pulled the pies from the oven and put them on a tray, keeping his eyes fixed on the Judge's 'special' pie, to be sure that they did not have a mishap and mix it with the others.

He lost sight of it when she turned around, but he was sure that she knew which one it was. He followed Mrs. Lovett up the stairs, out of the bakehouse, and into the shop, where there were several customers awaiting their orders. Including the Judge.

Toby had taken another tray from the counter, and took half of the pies on Mrs. Lovett's tray to help her serve people more quickly.

Sweeney stood at the doorway, watching Mrs. Lovett as she walked over to the Judge, smiling and giving a quick greeting as she set the pie down in front of him. The Judge's eyes roamed her figure unashamedly and unsubtly when she turned away to serve another customer, and Sweeney felt a strange flicker of anger boil up inside him momentarily. How dare he ogle the woman when her back was turned, and so shamelessly! What could Lucy have ever seen in the man? Oh well. He would be getting what was coming to him soon enough.

Sweeney felt a hint of a sadistic smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched the Judge take the first bite of the pie.


	11. Guilt, Anger, and Confusion

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**A/N – Nope, I'm not dead guys :P I'm so, sooooo sorry for the lack of updates, but the past month has been so god-forsaken **_**busy **_**that I really haven't had too much time to do **_**anything. **_**Final exams were killer, but school's over now, things have calmed down, and I think I'll hopefully have more time to write :)**

**And there's just one thing I need to clear up: I've heard from a couple of people that Sweeney seems OOC. I know that he may seem that way, but bear in mind that what he found when he returned home in this scenario is very different than the movie. He's not the **_**exact **_**same person as he is in the movie, as per the drastic changes I've made, so I apologize if you think that he is OOC. Just remember that in this case, he might be IC because he is slightly differently characterized. Also, if this story feels like it may be moving a bit quickly it's because I'd rather have things move quickly and finish the story, than have it move slowly and not finish it at all. **

**Whew. Sorry for the long A/N, I just needed to let you guys know. Thank you all for being the mercifully understanding people that you are :) **

Later that evening, after the pie shop was closed, the street was dark, and everyone had gone home for the night, Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett sat in the kitchen and contemplated their actions. Toby was sitting by the fire in the sitting room, a bottle of gin in one hand, and a pie that he'd saved for himself from that day's baking in the other.

"Well, I 'ope that woman was true to 'er word," Mrs. Lovett said, referring to the owner of the apothecary. "If 'e gets sick right away, people will suspect us. If 'e tasted somethin' in the pie and tells someone, people will suspect us. An' if 'e dies too soon an' 'as complained about the pie, people will suspect us. Or wot if 'e doesn't die at all, just gets sick?"

Sweeney knew that Mrs. Lovett was good at hiding things, and he'd been glad for that when she'd been serving the Judge. But now, her drawn face and worried eyes were beginning to make even Sweeney concerned.

"Nothing went wrong," he said, perhaps more to assure himself than for her. "The Judge will be dead within the week, I'm sure of it."

"I'd wager you're right, love," she said, a bit more of her usual cheerfulness finding its way back into her voice. "I just 'ave a bad feelin' about this. That's all."

And that seemed to reassure her significantly, so they went on with their normal routines for the next few days, though neither of them could quite help being anxious without hearing any news of the Judge.

It was only when they found Toby in his bed three days later, convulsing horribly and awash in a cold sweat, that they knew something had gone dreadfully wrong.

XXXX

Word on Fleet Street was that Nellie Lovett's adopted son was fatally ill, and his health was deteriorating quickly. How people had found out, Mrs. Lovett couldn't fathom, though it might have been due to the fact that her pie shop hadn't been open for nearly a week, and neither had the barbershop upstairs.

In that first split second that Mrs. Lovett had realized what had happened, her heart had torn itself apart in her chest. Toby was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. How could the Fates be so cruel? He was only a boy… a boy who'd had a hard childhood at that, and when he'd finally found somewhere to live where he was loved for who he was, his life was about to be snatched brutally away from him. But the thing that hurt her most: it was_ her_ fault. If she hadn't suggested poisoning the Judge, there never would have been this mix-up, and neither she nor Toby would be in this situation.

Mrs. Lovett had put her foot down and told Sweeney that either he stopped killing people, or baked the pies himself, because she would be quite indisposed for the next week. It was the second night after the poison had started to take its effect on Toby, and Mrs. Lovett felt obligated to take as good of care of him as she could during his last few days. Sweeney had been unhappy with this suggestion, to say the least, but in the end he had given in.

This evening, Mrs. Lovett looked down at Toby's silent, tear-stained face under the sheets in front of her, and she felt the guilt wash over her anew. Gulping back a sob, she smiled softly at him, brushing a strand of hair off his hot, sweaty forehead, and willing herself not to shed any tears in front of him. She could tell that he already felt bad enough, and she knew he'd feel much worse if he knew he'd made her cry.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Toby choked out. He trembled under her hand, which had come to rest on his cheek; wet with tears from the excruciating pain. Mrs. Lovett felt her eyes brimming with tears, but blinked them back determinedly so she could bend down and give him a hug.

"No, Toby," she said sadly. Her throat constricted painfully, holding back her retrained sobs. "Don't be sorry. You'll be better soon." It hurt her to lie to him.

She leant down to give him a tight hug, filling her embrace with his warm little body while she still could. "I love ya, sweet'eart."

"I love ya too, Mum." Toby managed. He shook in her arms as he was wracked by another painful convulsion. Mrs. Lovett bit her lip and held him to her until it passed, taking deep breaths and blinking furiously to force back her tears.

She stood up, stroking Toby's cheek with her thumb lovingly.

"Ya should try an' get some sleep, it's gettin' late now. 'Night, love."

Toby nodded, his thin, pallid face ghostly in the dim candlelight. Mrs. Lovett walked to the door and stopped, turning around to look back at him.

"Sleep, love," she told him, though somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he would never fall asleep. The spasms caused by the poison were too frequent and painful for him to.

Even so, Toby closed his eyes obligingly. Mrs. Lovett felt her heart ache, and she left the room before she lost all control of herself.

She walked slowly down the hall and into the kitchen, where she sank into the nearest chair. Despair took her over, and she thought of her Toby in his room, trying to sleep because she'd told him to, and he wanted to make her happy, even now, and not being able to because of the pain. The pain that she'd caused him.

Mrs. Lovett felt her mind overflow with remorse and sorrow, and then the reality of the situation finally struck her; a heavy blow to her already grieving heart. Although she hadn't lost him yet, she knew that she would soon. It was inevitable.

What would she do without Toby? He was always there for her; someone who didn't mind her endless chatter, and helped out around the shop just because he knew it would make less work for her. He was like a son to her. Who would she have when Toby was gone? Mr. Todd would be all she had left, and he was such a cross, ever-brooding piece of work, she knew he would never _really_ be there for her when she needed him. Her Toby…

And then Mrs. Lovett felt her eyes finally brimming over, and she put her head in her hands.

And she cried.

XXXX

Sweeney downed another glass of water, only for the liquid to pass over top of his seemingly impermeable, everlastingly dry throat. He growled and slammed the empty glass on his dresser in frustration. A crack appeared instantly along the side of the glass, all the way to the top of the rim, and Sweeney eyed it in an irritated fashion before throwing it uselessly aside. It landed with a thud in the corner of the room, immediately forgotten.

Every breath Sweeney was taking tickled at the back of his throat, triggering long coughing fits that were beginning to drive him up the wall. He tried holding back the coughs, but he could only do this by holding his breath; and in the end, of course he still had had to breathe. Then he remembered something: Mrs. Lovett had been trying for the past while to make him take some cold medicine of hers, that she kept in the cupboard downstairs. Perhaps he should take her advice for once and try it. She was an insightful woman, after all. She probably knew more about these kinds of things than he did anyhow. It was worth a shot.

Sweeney opened his door, making his way outside and down the steps through the chill air. He glanced into the shop before he entered, and what he saw made him very hesitant to go inside.

Mrs. Lovett sitting at her kitchen table, weeping and making small pitiful sounds of grief into her hands that covered her face. She lowered them for a moment, and Sweeney caught a glimpse of her red eyes, puffy and watery, trails of her tears glistening wet on her pale cheeks. She turned and looked towards the hall, where only a few doors down Sweeney knew Toby was attempting to sleep. The expression on her face was one of utmost sorrow, mixed with something else ... guilt?

Because Sweeney was so quiet, it made him naturally more observant of others, and he was very good at pinpointing emotions by their facial expressions and body language. And right now, Mrs. Lovett appeared to be drowning in self-guilt. He was puzzled. What would she be feeling guilty about?

Usually Sweeney didn't care how she was feeling, or how _anyone _was feeling, for that matter. But today, he was so irritable that he did care. He only wanted to try the medicine if it got rid of the persistent cough that was making him crazy; and right now he didn't particularly want to have an awkward moment with a sobbing Mrs. Lovett.

He thought for a moment, coughing into the crook of his elbow to stifle the sound. He turned around and quietly walked back up to the top of the stairs, trying to tread lightly enough that his landlady wouldn't hear his footsteps.

Then he stood in front of his barbershop, opened the door, and slammed it loudly without going inside. He walked down the stairs again, only this time he purposely thumped his feet on the stairs so that Mrs. Lovett would hear him coming, if she hadn't heard the door slam. Sweeney hoped that he had given her enough time to compose herself before he got to the bottom of the flight and went into the pie shop; he really didn't feel like dealing with her misery at the moment.

He opened the door that lead into her kitchen, the bell tinkling merrily. It seemed quite out of place in a room that held no merriment.

Sweeney noticed that the edge of Mrs. Lovett's apron was wet, but her face was dry, and she seemed quite a bit calmer than she had a few moments ago. She turned her face upwards when he entered.

"Yes, love?" she said. Her voice was still slightly shaky, but she held firm.

"I –" Sweeney broke off for an instant, coughing. "Is the medicine still on hand?" He knew that it was, who else would she have given it to?

"Of course," Mrs. Lovett replied. She got up and opened a cupboard. After a minute of rummaging, she pulled out a small bottle, which reminded her sickeningly of the one the Judge's poison had been in.

"There ya go." She turned back and grabbed a spoon, handing it and the bottle to Sweeney with the most cheerful smile she could muster, which Sweeney noticed ended up being not very cheerful at all. "Take two spoonfuls before ya go to bed. Works wonders, it does."

Sweeney nodded his thanks and left the kitchen.

Back in his barbershop, Sweeney took two spoonfuls of the medicine, as Mrs. Lovett had directed. He gagged and almost spat out the first mouthful, but managed to force it down. The second mouthful he swallowed quickly and tried not to let it linger on his tongue.

He still couldn't fall asleep, knowing what awaited him in the horrific dream-world. But he could breathe much better without his breaths catching in his throat and making him cough. And for that, he was grateful.

XXXX

Sweeney hadn't been out of his barbershop today, but he could imagine that Mrs. Lovett was quite busy downstairs. He imagined that she must be so busy, in fact, that it must have slipped her mind to bring him his breakfast that morning. And then his lunch.

His stomach growled and he cursed it silently. He thought it strange that he hadn't realized, until now, just how ridiculously dependant he was on Mrs. Lovett for something as trivial as food.

He decided to ignore his stomach for the time being, and try to figure out a way of asking her later on, if, by chance, she forgot to bring him his supper as well.

She did.

By an hour after supper, Sweeney was feeling almost faint from hunger. And it was then that he finally came to a conclusion: he was actually going to have to go to Mrs. Lovett and _ask _for something to eat. How appalling.

Sweeney frowned to himself, but his hunger pangs were getting too insistent for him to ignore them any longer. And his cough hadn't faded at all, though the medicine had helped the night before, and his voice was still embarrassingly hoarse, so he was even more quick-tempered. With a heavy sigh, he left his shop and went downstairs into the kitchen to find the baker.

He found her where he knew he would: near the counter, her sleeves rolled up, her hands busy with a rolling pin and a large piece of dough. She didn't look up and beam at him like she usually did when he walked into the room, though; rather, she looked as if she was on the brink of tears, and lifted a flour-covered palm to wipe at a spot under her eye. Yet at the same time she seemed angry, and whatever it was that was making her angry, she appeared as though she was taking it out on the dough.

"What?" she asked him irritably. Her voice was flat, and her eyes were dull when she finally glanced up at him.

"You've forgotten something," Sweeney told her.

"What?" she said again.

Sweeney had hoped that the loud growl his stomach had just made would have given her a hint.

"I haven't eaten for nearly a day now," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, whaddaya want me ta do about it? Make somethin' for yourself," Mrs. Lovett said to him crossly. She pushed hard on the rolling pin, back and forth, back and forth.

Sweeney was at a loss for words. It had been years since he'd cooked for himself, and he had to admit that he couldn't remember how to chop vegetables, let alone use an oven. But he wasn't about to confess that to her.

"What are you so busy doing that you can't make me something to eat?" he asked finally, sounding just as cross as she was.

"I have ta make Toby's last day a good one," she said, rolling her rolling pin furiously. Her voice broke and she sniffled quietly. The dough was now rolled out almost paper-thin.

It finally clicked in Sweeney's mind. _Oh. _So that was it.

"Mrs. Lovett, I'm sure you're making today the best day Toby has ever had," Sweeney began. Mrs. Lovett stopped and looked up at him, curiosity and confusion eminent on her face at his words.

"But you have to let go. Move on." Sweeney was quite proud of this advice; after all, it had been the very same thing she'd said to him that had helped him come to terms with his hatred. And all he wanted right now was to make Mrs. Lovett happy enough so that he could go back upstairs with a full belly.

Little did he know that that was the worst thing he could have said.

"Move on? You're tellin' _me_ ta move _on?" _Her voice was suddenly laced with spite. "'Ow can I move on? Toby's not gone yet, and 'e doesn't even know e's going to die! And I think I need some time ta grieve for a while before I can even begin to let go!"

"You haven't told him?" Sweeney asked.

Mrs. Lovett was furious. "'Course I 'aven't! What would I 'ave said? Mum was tryin' ta poison someone, but you got the poisoned pie by accident so now you've gotta die instead? What kind of a mother am I?" She started to cry through her anger.

"Now now, Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney said. "What sort of talk is that?"

He was beginning to panic himself now, having come downstairs for supper and some medicine, and instead getting a shouting, crying Mrs. Lovett. Wishing feverishly that he'd kept his mouth shut and went the day without food, he wondered what he was going to have to do to get her calmed down. He coughed quietly.

"It's all my fault," Mrs. Lovett was saying through her tears. She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Sweeney, but the barber had never seen her so hysterical and was almost afraid to move. "If I 'and't 'ad that 'orrible idea, none of this would 'ave 'appened. Oh, my poor boy…"

"It's not your fault the Judge got the wrong pie," Sweeney said, getting frustrated now. At that moment, he just wanted to grab her around the shoulders and shake her hard. But he restrained himself from doing so, just barely.

A light went on in Mrs. Lovett's mind. "'Ow could I 'ave been so blind? All this time I've been blamin' meself, when it isn't mine at all, it's yours! If you 'and't been so 'ell-bent on revenge, we wouldn't 'ave been poisonin' the Judge in the first place!"

"Don't worry, we'll get him back a different way," Sweeney said without thinking.

"Don't worry, we'll get 'im back a different way?! _WE? _Don't _WORRY_?!" Mrs. Lovett advanced on him then, and began beating him with her rolling pin, her eyes blazing with anger and resentment.

"I didn't mean – "

"Ya meant every word, ya insensitive bastard! Get out!"

Sweeney started to back up towards the door, raising his arms to protect his face from her blows.

"And don't you bother goin' back upstairs! You're not welcome 'ere any more, in any part of my 'ouse!"

"But – " Sweeney tried to reason with her, but she was past reasoning with.

"I said get OUT!" she screamed, still striking him brutally.

"FINE!" he roared in her face, letting out his pent-up frustration at her hysterics. His throat burned.

She stopped dead for a moment, but her eyes regained their angry blaze a second later. She dealt a vicious blow to his back with her rolling pin in parting, as he walked out the door.

XXXX

Sweeney was still seething as he walked down the street in the dark. How dare she kick him out! Where was he supposed to go now? He didn't know anybody, and she hadn't given him any time to get any money, or any of his belongings from upstairs. He hadn't done anything to deserve this. The woman was barking mad, hitting him and screaming at him that way at this hour. She'd probably woken all of Fleet Street with her antics, if not half of London!

He still didn't quite understand why she was blaming him for this happening. But he knew, deep down, that he could sympathize with her emotions when she realized that she was going to lose her son, if he really wanted to. That was how he'd felt inside when he'd realized that he'd lost Lucy forever, although she wasn't dead, or dying. Although he had dealt with it quite differently then she had.

And he knew that was how he would have felt if he'd come home and Lucy had been dead, or if Johanna had been. He wondered briefly how different of a person he'd be right now if that had happened, instead of Lucy marrying the Judge.

Sweeney had never seen Mrs. Lovett lose control of herself this way before. She was usually so cheerful, happy. Not without a kind word or a smile in his direction, or anybody's direction. Until this had happened. The Mrs. Lovett he had just seen was enraged, nearly uncontrollably so, full of hatred and a hint of despair and sadness.

He didn't like that Mrs. Lovett, not at all. He wondered if she would stay that way when Toby died, or if in time she would go back to being her old self. Somehow, he didn't think that she would. And then he found himself thinking that he would almost miss her. Now that he thought back on it, she was almost a likable person when she wasn't chattering endlessly to him. She was clever, caring, easy to get along with. And, if he _really_ thought about it, she _was_ quite an attractive woman.

Losing Toby would be hard on her. He knew that now. He hadn't thought much of it before, but now that he'd seen her that way, he knew that when Toby died, a little part of the Mrs. Lovett he knew would die as well. And, before he could stop himself, he found himself wishing that there was some way to stop that from happening.

Wait… Had he, somehow, perchance, possibly grown _fond _of Mrs. Lovett? Sweeney was gobsmacked at his own thoughts right then. But he didn't have anything else to do at the moment other than think, so that was what he did.

Sweeney didn't know how long he walked the streets for, letting these thoughts run their course, perplexing and baffling him more and more as they did so.

And then he realized: there _was _something that he could do.

XXXX

Mrs. Lovett had just finished tucking Toby in, for the last time. She'd kissed his forehead and told him that she loved him, and tried to smile and say she knew he'd get better soon. And then she'd returned to the kitchen, and picked up her rolling pin where she had abandoned it on the floor after the barber had left, and began re-rolling the already mangled pie dough.

She was still fuming over what Sweeney had said. She knew he could never understand how much she was hurting. He was too caught up in his own affairs to know, or even care about her even for a split second.

But she still loved him, and she hated herself for that. She knew that she would go outside and search the streets for him later, and beg him to come home like an idiot, knowing that when Toby died he would be the only one she would have left. And even though Sweeney would never hold her or comfort her, or even be able to grasp how she was feeling, he would _be _there. She could deal with things on her own, she'd always been able to, and she took pride in that. And just knowing he was there was almost comfort enough.

But at the moment, she was still angry.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Mrs. Lovett was stupefied to see none other than Sweeney Todd himself standing in the doorframe. His face was not blank, as it usually was, and he didn't seem to be bothering to cover up the fact that he was confused about something.

"I thought I told ya ta leave," she said coldly.

Sweeney stepped forward, his expression once again the usual deadpan. He held his tightly closed hand out towards her.

"I have something for you."

Reluctantly, Mrs. Lovett held up her palm, and he dropped a minute bottle into it.

"What is it?" she asked. She looked up at him, completely mystified. Sweeney sighed.

"The antidote."


	12. Understand

Chapter 11

**I'm so sorry for the long wait, guys! Don't worry, the fic ain't abandoned... Life just got in the way. Man, I thought I'd have MORE time to write this summer, but it turns out that I have less instead O.o And I haven't proofread this chapter because I just don't have the GODDAMN TIME and I'm actually not at home right now, so I apologize in advance for any typos or horrifc grammar/sentences you might find in here :P **

**Replies to anonymous reviewers: **

**Bloody Pumpkinhead - That part was so fun to write XD He's such a selfish bastard sometimes, isn't he? But we still love him :P**

**MK: Well, you'll soon see if they got the antidote to Toby in time :P I love him too, he's so adorable XD His hair is so cute! LMAO! Which parts did you want to beat Sweeney with a rolling pin in? XD He's so self-absorbed sometimes, heh... :P**

**Depp-Sweeney Obsession: Well, I originally was going to kill Toby but when it finally came down to it I just didn't have the heart, haha XD He's too cute ;) **

**Tori: I'm glad you like it! :D Heh, it seems like a lot of people reading this fic don't like Lucy either XDD**

"You're jokin'," were the first words out of Mrs. Lovett's mouth.

Sweeney scowled. "What sort of sick joke would that be? Of course I'm not joking, you daft woman. Now go give this to the boy before you begin bawling all over again."

To his great chagrin, she did just that anyhow.

Minutes later, after having given Toby the antidote, Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney were back in the kitchen. They were staring at each other in silence across the table, both at a complete and utter loss for words. Mrs. Lovett was the one to break the silence.

"I… I suppose I should thank you," she said quietly.

Sweeney merely glanced at her impassively, his hands folded in front of him on the flour-covered tabletop.

"I can't believe I didn't think of it," she continued slowly. Her red-rimmed eyes stared right though him; distant, contemplative.

"Such a simple thing in the end, wasn't it? An antidote. After all this time, there was a bloody antidote. If I'd lost 'im, I don't know what I would 'ave done. I know ya can't understand…" she trailed off uncertainly.

There was a long silence.

"How do you know?" Sweeney said suddenly. His voice was hoarser than ever, having been outside in the cold for hours, but Mrs. Lovett still caught the edge of an accusatory undertone.

Her eyes flicked upwards to meet the barber's, brows knitting with bewilderment and surprise.

"What?" she said, her confusion expressed thoroughly in her brown eyes.

"How do you know I can't understand?" he asked reproachfully, his dark eyes glaring.

"I…" Mrs. Lovett didn't know what to say. She stared at him, searching his face intently.

Sweeney wondered if she knew how he felt when she looked at him like that. When she turned those eyes on him, it felt as if his whole façade, the whole outer layer of indifference that he had worked so hard to create for himself, was stripped clean away. He felt bare and exposed, and it felt as if when she looked at him in that particular fashion, she could see into the very depths of his soul.

But Sweeney was too well-practiced in the pretense of apathy to let his landlady see him faltering that way.

Mrs. Lovett searched his dark eyes and pallid face closely. She wondered abruptly if perhaps she had misjudged the barber's emotional limits. He had, after all, been through so much…

Sweeney stared back at her defiantly, seemingly unperturbed, waiting for her answer. He unclasped his hands and drummed his fingertips on the tabletop impatiently. The silence stretched on.

"Well… do ya?" Mrs. Lovett asked at last.

"Do I what?" It was Sweeney's turn to be confused.

"Understand," she said softly.

The drumming stopped.

"I may possibly understand more than you might think, Mrs. Lovett," he said. "Keep that in mind."

The chair creaked as Sweeney got to his feet, and pushed it under the table. He walked out of the shop without another word.

Mrs. Lovett was left sitting at her kitchen table, alone once again and thoroughly baffled.

XXXX

Sweeney opened the door to his barbershop and stepped inside. The interior of his abode was no warmer than the outside, and he shivered, walking over to sit in his chair. The fabric of the chair's backing was ice-cold, and he could feel the chill seep through his clothes.

His cough rumbled deep in his chest, and he felt as if his lungs as well as his throat were now on fire. Taking deep breaths didn't help much; the freezing air only stung his breathing passages even more.

Sitting there in the middle of the cold room, his breath coming out small wispy clouds, coughing and shivering uncontrollably, Sweeney suddenly felt very, very tired. His head was beginning to ache, and he was beginning to feel drowsy. He eyed his tiny cot in the corner of the room unenthusiastically. Moth-eaten blankets and a tiny, hard mattress were promising for neither warmth nor comfort. Nevertheless, they were better than nothing.

Sweeney trudged across the room, his feet feeling as if they were filled with lead. He all but fell onto his bed, not bothering to undress, his body feeling like dead weight. And for once, Sweeney Todd fell asleep without protest.

XXXX

The moment Sweeney awoke the next morning, he knew he was sick. His head was thick and heavy, and upon attempt to sit up he was overcome by dizziness.

Instead of being cold, today had dawned bright and hot, and Sweeney was already perspiring, his hair slick with sweat and his clothes damp.

He groaned and rolled over on his bed, engulfed in a wave of vertigo, leaning over the edge to retch on the floor. His stomach churned painfully, empty of its contents. His head was pounding worse than after he'd fell in the street. He pulled himself back on the bed and collapsed there, unmoving. He felt faint and weak with sickness, and was almost afraid to move again for fear of triggering worse nausea than this.

Sweeney lay there in agony, unable to think, unable to move for what could have been an eternity.

Then Mrs. Lovett found him.

"Still not open, ya lazy lie-abed?" she said fondly, pushing the door open with her hip as she carefully maneuvered into the room with a tray of food. "Sunday today though, so I don't suppose it matters much, now does it dearie?"

When she finally turned around and saw his face, paler than pale from sickness and twisted in pain, she nearly dropped the tray.

The door had banged againt the wall when she entered, and the noise had made Sweeney feel as if his head would split in two. That was the only thing about her appearance in his barbershop that bothered him at this moment in time. At that very instant, her face was about the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life.


	13. Hidden Passions

Chapter 12

**I am so, sooooooooooo sorry that I haven't updated. **

**So sorry. **

**I apologize to you all. This fic still hasn't been abandoned, don't worry. I've been working hardcore all summer, and then the past couple weeks I've been on vacation... I just got back a few days ago, and I've been kinda chillaxin', cause school starts right away. But anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I've actually started on the next one already, so HOPEFULLY you guys will get a speedy update this time :P**

**Again, so sorry. I still love you all!**

It was the morning of the third day that Sweeney had been stuck in bed. And he was quickly growing tired of it, becoming more and more restless each day. He wasn't used to being cooped up inside. But his illness did not seem to be dwindling in the least. and his cough had grown worse.

"Come on, Mr. T," Mrs. Lovett coaxed. "Ya gotta try an' eat _somethin'._"

Sweeney turned his head away from the spoonful of chicken broth that she was holding in front of his mouth. It smelled wonderful, but he knew his stomach wouldn't allow it.

"You know as well as I that I can't keep anything down," Sweeney croaked crossly. "Now put that away." _And stop torturing me with it, _he added silently.

Mrs. Lovett obliged, and set the bowl down on the dresser. An amused smile played across her lips as she did so.

"Your voice sounds 'orrible, love," she told him with a smirk. "Like an ole bullfrog."

Sweeney frowned and pressed his lips together indignantly.

"'Course, it's prob'ly because ya were out in the cold for so long the other night without a proper jacket," she mused. "Suppose that's partly my fault though now, ain't it?"

Sweeney rolled his eyes but refused to speak.

"Oh love, don't be like that," Mrs. Lovett said. "_Some_ good came of this, ya know. Toby's on the mend now, gettin' stronger every day. If this 'and't 'appened, well... 'e wouldn't be. Think of it that way. Ya gotta learn ta see the bright side of things, Mr. T. God knows it 'elps, 'specially doin' the sort of work that we do…"

He listened to her babble on, hearing her voice but not quite taking in all of her words.

Mrs. Lovett's characteristic cheerfulness seemed to have returned after finding out Toby would be all right. She seemed to have quite forgiven Sweeney for his shortcomings the other night as well, or else had forgotten them already. He was thoroughly surprised at how quickly her mood could change.

And after discovering that Sweeney was sick, well… Being able to touch him and take care of him with a legitimate reason made her, if possible, even happier.

Sweeney could tell. He wasn't a stupid man, or a blind one. Mrs. Lovett's evident profound affection for him had not gone unnoticed, or been overlooked. It would merely be much too awkward for him to be around her if she found out that he knew, and she undoubtedly would also become even more unbearable in that aspect. He simply ignored that particular element of reality and went on with his life from day to day, pretending that such emotions of hers did not exist.

She wasn't exactly discreet about it, he thought to himself as she leaned over the bed to tuck the blankets around him, giving him a not quite so subtle view down the front of her dress. He awkwardly made an effort to avert his eyes.

Mrs. Lovett straightened and patted his arm. "There ya go, love. Anything else you would like before I open up shop downstairs? I might not find the time ta be back up 'ere for awhile, if it's busy today."

"Bring me a book to read," Sweeney ordered. He coughed gratingly_._ "It's tremendously boring lying about all day."

"Anything you say, love," Mrs. Lovett smiled. "Can't promise ya much selection though. Mostly all I got is dramas or romances…"

"Just do it," Sweeney said grumpily.

Mrs. Lovett shrugged and left the barbershop. She reappeared a few minutes later with an armful of worn, dog-eared books.

"I brought ya a few ta pick through," she said, dumping the pile into his lap.

Sweeney picked one up and read the title aloud.

"_The Blacksmith's Wife_?" He raised an eyebrow incredulously. He picked up another. "_Hidden Passions? ... A Love Story, Volume III: Venice_?!"

Mrs. Lovett was unperturbed by his reaction. "I _told_ ya. And anyways, ya never know what you might end up liking."

Sweeney snorted. "I'd no sooner read one of these than take up jigging."

Mrs. Lovett shrugged. "Suit yourself. I gotta go open up shop now, though. I'll be back when I can."

XXXX

Mrs. Lovett hurried up from the bakehouse with a batch of fresh pies. As she pushed open the door, she smiled to see Toby carrying around his small tray and serving the customers. He had recovered rapidly, and had been out of bed the day after being given the antidote.

She hadn't wanted him to start helping around the shop again so quickly afterwards, but he had insisted. So she had promoted him to a smaller tray than his usual. And though she didn't want him to strain himself, he was relieved for having his help again. It was difficult for her to run the busy shop all by herself.

He was still weak, though. The incident had quite understandably put him off meat pies for the time being, so he hadn't been eating too much over the past few days. Mrs. Lovett had made sure that he had plenty of other things to eat, though.

And Sweeney being sick…Well, she couldn't say she HADN'T been delighted to find him indisposed on Sunday morning. This way, he couldn't protest to her being around him as much as she could, or touching him, or taking care of him. She knew it wouldn't last, but she intended to enjoy it while it lasted. Well, she would enjoy it as much as she could, anyways, because he _was _still sick. And she felt slightly guilty about that, as sickness was not something that was supposed to be enjoyed. She was quite sure that Sweeney wasn't enjoying himself, at least.

It wasn't until late in the evening that Mrs. Lovett was finished cleaning up her shop for the day, and was able to check on the barber again. Toby had gone to bed by that time, of course.

Mrs. Lovett opened the barbershop door. It creaked, swinging open wide. Mrs. Lovett tiptoed inside.

Silver moonbeams filtered through the white curtains she had hung earlier that week, the ones Sweeney had vowed to rip down as soon as he was able to get out of bed. The lacy fabric swayed slightly in the breeze coming from the open window. Mrs. Lovett looked over at the barber in his bed, his face just as careworn and drawn in slumber as it was when he was awake. She sighed heavily, her heart going out to him. He couldn't even relax while he was sleeping.

She smiled though, noticing the bookmark three-quarters of the way into the pages of _Hidden Passions. _It wasstill resting next to him on the bed, where he'd left it when he'd fallen asleep_. _He was a fast reader. She would have to remember to bring him some more books from her shelf downstairs.

Mrs. Lovett walked over to his bed, the floor creaking and groaning where she stepped. She stood there next to him in the dark for an incalculable amount of time, looking at him fondly.

After a while, she reached out a hand and placed it on his chest, watching it rise and fall with every raspy breath he took. She sat down lightly on the bed beside him, ignoring the squeaking bedsprings, feeling his heartbeat through the thin material of his shirt. Everything about him fascinated her, through and through.

How she loved him...

Before she even realized what she was doing, she had laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She lay there, just enjoying the way that he felt.

Sweeney had begun to panic even before she'd touched him. His sleep-charade had not gone at all like he'd planned. He'd only thought that it would keep her from being able the chatter at him until his ears got sore, and he'd gotten_ this_ instead. Now he had to wait until she got off of him until he "woke up", which he knew could be who knew how long. He felt her shift her position slightly.

"I love you," he heard her sigh. He felt her cool breath tickle his skin through his shirt.

Sweeney stiffened.

All of a sudden the small weight of her was gone off his chest, and he was surprised at just how cold the spot she'd been had become, like something was missing. He was shocked beyond all belief. Had he heard her correctly?

He heard the creaking of the floorboards right next to him, and decided that this was as good a time as any to pretend to awaken.

He opened his eyes.

That was as far as he got.

Had he known she would actually _kiss _him in his sleep, he might have gone on with his charade just a_ little_ bit longer.


	14. Reflections

Chapter 13

**A/N – Second to last chapter! Crazy, huh? I'm so sorry I promised you a fast update, and I didn't post anything… I'm so cruel to you guys. I'm so sorry, again. Anyways, hope you like this chapter! Just know - I still love you! And I hope that I can get the final chapter up for you very soon! :)**

Mrs. Lovett's lips descended on his.

Sweeney froze. But – he couldn't bring himself to push her away. His lips moved tentatively against hers.

When Sweeney began kissing her back, Mrs. Lovett moaned and leaned in.

All of a sudden, Sweeney snapped back to reality. He shoved her away, hard. What had he done?

"Oh! Mr. T," she spluttered, stumbling back. "I, er, I was just – You were -"

Sweeney watched her stammer an incoherent excuse, his own mind still whirling at what he had just done. He was never this impulsive, never. What was wrong with him?

"Get _out_."

Mrs. Lovett made her escape, terrified and fully grateful of Sweeney's immobility at that moment. Not that he couldn't get out of bed if he _really_ wanted to…

He'd gotten angry at her before for touching him while he was asleep, and that time she'd only been doing it because she wanted to help him. But this time, it had been for herself, not for him … and she had definitely crossed the line.

She locked her bedroom door for the rest of the night, just in case.

XXXX

Sweeney was confused.

He didn't know whether he should be angry at her, for doing it, or at himself, for… for enjoying it. And what she had said … it couldn't be. How could she possibly be _in_ _love_ with him? In _love. _It completely blew him away.

For one, he couldn't understand _how_. He was violent by nature, indifferent to anything that he didn't care about (which was, coincidentally, almost everything), and he was fairly sure that his disposition was quite a bit more than just _cold_.

He thought hard, trying to remember one time when he had outwardly showed her any form of kindness. He couldn't remember any time that he had.

Then he thought about all the things that she had done for him.

A seemingly endless flow of memories invaded his mind. Each recollection led to another, which led to another, which led to another. Mrs. Lovett bringing him food. Mrs. Lovett doing his laundry. Mrs. Lovett having the brilliant idea of what to do with his "customers." Mrs. Lovett finding him in the street. Mrs. Lovett holding him after his nightmare. Mrs. Lovett beating him with a rolling pin. Mrs. Lovett bringing him those awful romance novels, beaming as she dumped them into his lap. Mrs. Lovett laughing at him, chattering to him, taking care of him.

Mrs. Lovett_ loving_ him.

Sweeney sighed. This was going to be a long night.

XXXX

The next afternoon, Sweeney forced himself to get out of bed. His limbs were stiff, and they cracked painfully as he climbed out from between the covers. He was almost glad for the pain, knowing that he could actually feel something aside from confusion. His head was fuzzy from the illness and lack of sleep, among other things.

Sweeney dressed lethargically, in a daze, still wondering what on earth Mrs. Lovett was going to say to him when she brought him supper. She must have come to check on him and found him sleeping; for it was now well after midday. The woman could hardly make things any better for herself in this predicament; and he was fairly sure that there wasn't truly anything she could say that would make everything the same again. Her confession to his seemingly sleeping form had tilted his world completely off its axis, which was now whirling off in a completely different direction. He hadn't quite grasped how or which way his planet was spinning thus far, but it was slowly coming to him as he continued to think about it … and the kiss …

The kiss had been indescribable. It had been so heartrendingly familiar, comfortable even; and yet at the same time foreign and exotic and exciting. It just seemed to _fit._

But the one thing he couldn't get over was just how wonderfully _warm _she had been. It had seemed to radiate from every fiber of her being, that warmth, and it had flowed into him from her lips like the sun streaming its vibrant colours into the sunrise. Now that it was on his mind, he found he wanted _more_ of it. That warmth.

But wait – this was _Mrs. Lovett _he was thinking about. Eleanor Lovett, whom he'd known for years and years and never felt the slightest of _anything _for…

And it didn't change a thing.

Sweeney stood listlessly at his mirror for a long while, staring at his reflection, contemplating and wondering if all this was truly real. The man who looked back at him in the mirror was not the same as the one that had before this sickness. It wasn't a describable sort of difference, just … bizarre. His reflection in the mirror looked peculiarly unlike himself.

This man had a hint of colour in his cheeks, and he looked nervous. Despite his thin face, emaciated from sickness, he almost looked _well. _He didn't take proper care of himself, obviously. He wouldn't even eat if Mrs. Lovett wasn't there to coax him to do it.

Sweeney turned his head to the right. The man in the mirror imitated him. He opened and closed his mouth. The man in the mirror did the same. He lifted a hand and waved. The man in the mirror did the exact same.

Sweeney tried to smile, and he could see the man in the mirror having difficulty with it as well. He hadn't smiled for years … he almost couldn't remember how. After he'd arranged his features into some stiff semblance of a grin, he shuddered. Much as it was sort of a sad thing to admit, the look did not suit him. That mark of happiness did not belong on a face like his.

"Who are you?" he asked his doppelganger in the mirror, almost expecting it to answer. He glared at it, and it glared back.

Sweeney almost chuckled then. The anxiety and the sickness must really be getting to his head if it was making him talk to his reflection.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door, shattering his window of thought. A mental image of the petite flustered baker the night before flashed through his mind. Sweeney's stomach leapt into his throat.

"Come in," he rasped, wondering why she had bothered to knock. She never had before.

Sweeney's voice was croaky and hoarse, and he remembered Mrs. Lovett's comment about his voice sounding like a bullfrog's. He winced.

The door creaked open to admit his visitor.

"Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney felt his stomach leap from his throat into his mouth, choking him and cutting off his voice box. At that moment he couldn't say a word, and even if he did, he wouldn't have known what to say.

The person knocking had not been Mrs. Lovett.

It was Lucy.


	15. The Last Act

Chapter 14

**A/N - Last chapter! cries Thank you all for your support throughout this story, and your continuous patience with my lack of updates! I love you all for your awesome reviews, and thank you to everyone who has commented or favourited/alerted this story. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! :) **

_Lucy Turpin. _Sweeney's mind automatically tacked on the last name; hate building up inside of him at the notion. But he forced this rage down inside himself and locked it away, making his expression even and polite.

"Well hello, Mrs. Turpin," he said smoothly, trying to act as normally as he could. "And where is your husband on this fine afternoon? Does he send word of his next appointment?"

"No, Mr. Todd," Lucy said in her lilting voice. "I actually came by to see you, myself."

Sweeney's heart ached as he looked at her, looked into her blue, blue eyes, and her shining yellow hair, and her beautiful face illuminated in the moonlight, and it made him yearn for the old days when everything was bright and clear… and then he remembered what she had done to him, pushing him over the edge into the chasm of darkness and the fog and the insanity that his world now was; and he saw her belly, swollen with that _monster's_ child … and he hated her. Oh, how he hated her.

"Oh? Of what purpose is your visit, then?" he asked curiously, his own voice grating.

"I heard that you were ill, and I came by to see if you were all right. You've been closed for weeks on end now, and I wondered if perhaps something had happened to you," she said, her ocean eyes concerned.

Sweeney hadn't quite realized how long his shop had been closed. His first cold, then Toby's poisoning, and now this… he hadn't been open for at least three weeks.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You needn't have worried though, I'm quite on the mend," Sweeney said. There was a short silence, in which Sweeney cleared his throat and added, "If it's not too impolite to ask, what is the real reason for your visit? I have an inkling that my illness was not truly the reason you came here today."

Lucy stared at him for a moment, and then sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid you're right. The thing is…"

She paused and cocked her head, scrutinizing him closely. "I don't really know how to say this, but…" She stopped again, sighing.

"I still love you, Benjamin. And I'm sorry for all the pain I must have caused you."

_What?_

Sweeney couldn't make a sound. She'd known him? The entire time? His mind spun as Lucy continued, words flowing from her mouth that had been waiting so long to be spoken.

"I tried waiting for you. I waited so long, Ben, and you didn't come back to me. I was so lonely, and I had to look after Johanna… she's getting married, you know. In a couple of days, to that sailor boy, Anthony Hope. He'll treat her well. Like you treated me… but you left me with nothing, you must remember that you were only beginning your business when you were arrested; I had insufficient funds to raise a child on… And he was so courteous, and polite, and he still wanted me even though I had a baby… and I couldn't say no, Ben, I just couldn't. I thought of you the entire time, but you didn't come back… I assumed that you must have passed away, I wept for days and days until I had no more tears… and I prayed for your soul. You have a good soul, Ben, you always have.

"And then… you were here again. You. My Benjamin. And I was married, and I felt horrible, but I couldn't do anything. You asked me if I recognized you, and I lied. I'm so sorry. But if I'd said anything you'd have been back in prison before I could bat an eyelash, and I couldn't have that. I couldn't bear to have you sent away again.

"I hope that someday you can forgive me. I know I did wrong, but I also tried to do right as well as I could. I know that you may not accept my apology right now, but I hope over time you can forgive me. I still love you, Ben…." Lucy trailed off, her big blue eyes misty and full of sadness.

Sweeney was speechless. A whirlwind of emotions whipped through his mind like a hurricane through a pile of bricks, his thoughts being carried off in every direction imaginable.

Lucy was here. Lucy knew him. Lucy wanted him back.

The silence was full of tension and anxiety, past misgivings suddenly remembered, old wounds suddenly ripped wide open. It stretched on and on, becoming more and more awkward until Lucy tentatively spoke.

"Ben?"

"_Stop calling me that name._" The phrase left Sweeney's mouth in an involuntary snarl.

The look of shock was frozen on Lucy's face.

"I don't love you, Lucy," he said slowly. "The last of my love for you was obliterated the moment I realized that you left me for a man who is lower than the lowest of society."

Lucy simply stared at him, a frown creasing her forehead. "But –"

"NO!" Sweeney shouted. "No! You left me, abandoned me to die when you were all I had left to live for… and I did die. My soul is dead, Mrs. Turpin. And whatever might be left of it, well – it's certainly nothing close to the 'good soul' you spoke of. Yes – it is far, far from what it used to be. And may you burn alongside it in hell."

He pulled out his razor and in one last, decisive movement, severed the last, connection he had to Benjamin Barker.

Lucy's big blue eyes widened in astonishment as the gleaming razor slid across her throat, slicing cleanly through her soft skin. She stared into his churning dark eyes as crimson spurted from between her panicked fingers that clutched at her neck in desperation. She watched as his face was sprayed with her own blood, wishing a thousand times repentance for what she had done.

Sweeney felt a drop of blood trickle over his cheekbone, and on impulse, flicked out his tongue to lick it away. Her blood was bitter and salty. Not sweet. Not in the slightest.

The light faded slowly from Lucy's eyes, and she slumped to the floor, a pool of red spreading quickly outward from her crumpled form. The last thing she saw was the bloodied razor falling from his hand, and the last ting she heard was the ghostly echoing clatter as it hit the wooden floor of the barbershop.

Sweeney sat down in his chair limply, staring at the body on the floor in front of him, but not quite seeing it. He could barely believe what he had just done. It was done. It was all over. He didn't quite know how to feel – so many emotions were washing over him at once. Relief. Shock. A touch of guilt. Wonder. But mostly – freedom.

Looking down at himself to be sure that this wasn't a dream, he noticed that his hands were shaking. He gripped the armrests tightly to still his trembling; and decided that he was sick of it. All of it. It all occupied his mind far too much to be healthy. Hating Lucy. Hating the Judge. Anthony and Johanna's stomach-turning lovesickness. Murder. Failed plans. Illness. Deceit. Love confessions…

It was all becoming too much for him to bear.

In that moment, he made a decision. And he began to form a plan.

XXXX

Mrs. Lovett jumped at the sound of the kitchen door banging open. Sweeney Todd stood before her, his face covered in blood and his eyes shining with something she couldn't quite identify.

The barber crossed the floor in three strides, grabbed her by the shoulders – and kissed her full on the lips.

She was so surprised she was having a hard time keeping a grip on the rolling pin she was holding. Finally she just discarded it and melted, losing herself in him completely. She had been waiting for this so long, and if this wasn't a dream, well, she must be dead – because she was in heaven.

Sweeney pulled away just to stare at her. From the look in her eyes, it didn't seem as if she was quite here with him. He kissed her again, and this time when he looked at her, she was looking back, her eyes bright and lively. There was blood smeared around her mouth from his lips, but she didn't seem to care.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said quickly. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anythin', Mr. T. Anythin' at all," she breathed.

"I need you to go and wake Toby, and then you and he pack some things. Take all of your savings though, mind you. We'll be needing it. Other than that, just things that are precious to you or that you might need. Then get Toby to run and fetch a carriage from the man around the corner; I'm fairly certain that he works late. Tell the boy to give him some money and inform him he won't be getting it back. Can you do that for me, my pet?"

"Yes," Mrs. Lovett said. But she was puzzled. "May I ask, dearie, what we're packin' for?"

"We're leaving London, tonight. Possibly forever," Sweeney replied. "Now go. I have a few things I need to take care of first."

Mrs. Lovett left the kitchen in a stupor, running to rouse Toby to relay the barber's message, and nearly forgetting to wash off her face. Toby told her to pack for him and left the room in a hurry with the coins she had given him for the carriage.

Mrs. Lovett packed dazedly, not paying too much attention to what was going in her bag until she realized that there was a curtain in her hand instead of a dress. She forced herself to concentrate and not wonder too much about what Sweeney was planning. She added the sack of money last, making sure not to forget it in all her haste. It was enough for them to live on for a long, long time.

She stuffed her bag and Toby's to the brim and went outside to wait on the side of the curb, her heart pounding excitedly. Toby rode around the corner, driving the carriage all over the road. He finally made it to the front of the shop and stopped the horses, jumping down from the seat and shaking his head.

"Must be a strong man wot can drive those things," he told Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett smiled and put down the bags to give him a hug.

"Give me a 'and with puttin' these in the back, won't you love? And then we'll wait for Mr. T ta come out 'ere and join us."

Sweeney came out to join them a few minutes later, his face and clothes blood-free. He sported only a small bag and his precious box of razors.

"I've only one thing left to do," he said. "I'll be back in a moment."

He walked briskly and disappeared down into the bakehouse, and Mrs. Lovett wondered what in the world he might be doing down there. He rematerialized minutes later with two torches, made of something undistinguishable in the darkness of the night.

One was thrown through the door of his barbershop upstairs, and the other thrown onto the counter in the pie shop.

When Sweeney finally joined them, orange flames had already begun to lick up the stairs of the bakehouse, and had spread visibly through the interior of the kitchen from their view outside.

As Sweeney climbed atop the bench on the front of the carriage, Mrs. Lovett looked up at him sadly.

"I'm goin' ta miss this place," she said wistfully. "So many memories 'ere… oh love, did ya _'ave_ to burn it?"

"Yes," Sweeney said. "But you might like the place we're going even better."

Mrs. Lovett sighed. "I'm not too sure I agree with ya on that. Where are we goin'?"

"Haven't you always wanted a cottage by the sea?"

Mrs. Lovett turned to look at him incredulously, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. He nodded once, and calmly turned back to face the road, whipping the reins to urge the horses to go on faster.

And it was thus that they left London, the pie shop a blazing inferno behind them, and the stars twinkling merrily through the smog above the city. And not one of them looked back; not Sweeney Todd, Eleanor Lovett, nor Tobias Ragg. They could only stare forward at the great expanse of world before them, and marvel at the dazzling unpredictability of their continuously changing future.


End file.
